


i know it hurts (i'd quench that thirst)

by prairiewolf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dominatrix being a dominatrix, F/M, Irene would say so anyway, Light BDSM, Prompt: Pride, Riding Crops, Sherlock Being a Drama Queen, Smutless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 11:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiewolf/pseuds/prairiewolf
Summary: Sherlock Holmes can tell you a man’s smoking habits by the cut of his suit and the part of his hair.  But strap that same man to a table, and Irene Adler would venture that she’s the better judge of character.Case in point.





	i know it hurts (i'd quench that thirst)

“Oh, come now, Mr. Holmes, you’re being _quite_ ridiculous. Dr. Watson’s already said it – haven’t you, John dear?”

John, flushed and breathless, does not answer.

Irene traces the screaming red pathways on Sherlock Holmes’s white torso with the tip of her nail. (Pity it isn’t the exact shade – she’ll know for next time.)

Smiling, she moves to the desk and selects, from her various tools, the riding crop.

The riding crop is her favorite. By the barely perceptible hitch in his breath, she suspects it’s his, too. She strokes the leather keeper and slowly, ever so slowly, outlines the sharp angle of his cheekbones, pushing the sweat-licked curls away from his face. He’s scarlet, shining, steely-eyed, loathe to breath so heavily.

She twists the shaft in her palm – what a lovely sight.

Sherlock Holmes can tell you a man’s smoking habits by the cut of his suit and the part of his hair. But strap that same man to a table, and Irene would venture that she’s the better judge of character.

Case in point.

She’s certain she could use her Command voice to coax what she wants out of him, but really, she’s not pressed for time. She’s working, but she’s not _all_ work.

Lounging beside him, she lowers herself to his ear. “Oh, dear. You’re being so naughty. One may come to believe you like being punished.”

He noticeably stiffens when she presses her lips to his collar bone. The kiss is even redder than the handprint blooming across his cheek.

“Kate, dear—?” Kate appears from the hall, “Could you set up Dr. Watson in the guest room?”

Even as Kate disappears with dear dazed Dr. Watson in tow, Sherlock’s gaze never breaks hers. Ooh yes, naughty indeed. A chill ticks up from the base of her spine.

“It appears we’re alone,” she says.

“If you want the codes,” he grits, “you’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

She actually laughs. “Sweet Mr. Holmes, John will give Kate the codes - and willingly at that. But you’re right about one thing. We do have a long night ahead.”

She punctuates her syllables with a tap on his Adam’s apple.

“A long…long…night.”

Her hands drift over his chest, pinching selectively – and he hisses. Well, if he doesn’t like being punished, he’s certainly poor at hiding it.

“We have so much to talk about.”

“I could share intimate details about your relationship with your—”

She strikes his face hard, rolling her eyes as she does. “Don’t be coy. It’s boring.”

That one must have stung. He blinks sharply and everything - _everything_ \- is standing on end.

“I’m well aware that the other Mr. Holmes didn’t send you.” She says. “You’ve come of your own accord. Would you like the opportunity to deny it, or shall we continue?”

His eyes flash in her gaze.

She slaps the riding crop on the table near his ear.

“Answer me,” she says in her Command voice. Then quieter, “Shall we continue?”

His mouth stays in a hard line until, loathsomely, “Yes.”

She strikes again, this time cracking the keeper into his shoulder. His back arches up and jerks back down, arms constrained. He groans. It is not entirely pained.

“Yes?”

“Yes, _Miss Adler_.” He hisses.

Ooh, she does like the sound of that. So dangerous and full of promise.

She'll make him say it again, say it thrice over, but as she’s privately acknowledged, she’s not pressed for time.

“There now,” she coils the crop back for another strike. “You’re learning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Pride, for the [Smutless Smut Challenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/smutlesssmut). The title coming to you _grâce à_ F.K.A. Twigs's song "Two Weeks" and the pervasive idea that long titles are a really good idea because it's late at night.


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